The place was an exclusive dinner-house noted for its catering to celebrities and patrons of the arts and Karen was quite excited when he pointed out this one and that one, exchanged recognized noble with others, and finally introduced her to the handsome, noted literary agent, Nathan Brendell.

"A pleasure, Miss Wilson," Brendell said, his square face caught in a warm smile, his deep grey eyes appraising her in several sweeping, up and down, glances. He was tall and broad, muscular and slightly white at the temples, a striking man of obvious confidence and dominating personality, probably in his fifties, she thought, as she felt his discerning eyes strip her appreciatively.

Karen felt like squirming beneath his almost obvious lecherous gaze, and diverted her own eyes to the much younger, attractive dark-eyed woman with him, less she commence to blush. The woman smiled, intuitively, it seemed to Karen, as if she understood. She said, "Better come along Nat. I think Parker is motioning that he has our table."

"Yes… yes, of course, dear," replied Brendell, a slight ring of irritation to his voice. "Look here, young lady, if Fletcher doesn't take good care of you on this book of yours, drop around to my office, eh?"

Karen smiled. "Thank you… I'll remember that, Mr. Brendell."

They went off and Karl Fletcher cleared his throat. "A regular damned pirate, that one," he said. "A lusty one too, I'll tell you that."

"Was that his wife with him?" Karen questioned.

"Yes. Muriel Standard, the British actress of a few years ago. Didn't you recognize her?"

"I thought she looked very familiar to me," said Karen. "Now I remember… of course. Beautiful, isn't she…"

"Yes… I suppose so, in that strict English way," he agreed, leaning an elbow onto their table and peering at her through the candle-light. "But personally, I prefer blondes with deep hazel eyes."